


Affective Constellations

by pink_freud07



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha Hannibal Lecter, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Barebacking, Biting, Bottom Hannibal Lecter, Bottom Will Graham, Breeding, But also, Condoms, Hurt/Comfort, I don't even know how how to tag the dynamics in this fic, I tried to be less of a therapy nerd but I can't help myself, Implied Mpreg, Knotting, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Will Graham, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Service Top Hannibal, Switching, Top Will Graham, Touch-Starved, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:27:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26506675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pink_freud07/pseuds/pink_freud07
Summary: Hannibal Lecter is an employee of the Baltimore State Heat Clinic -- a clinic that holds professional prestige for a program designed to service and treat Omegas withparticularneeds. Will Graham checks himself in when a problem with his suppressants means he has to confront his fears about his heat.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 25
Kudos: 304





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HigherMagic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigherMagic/gifts).



> This fic was partially inspired/motivated by [this tweet](https://twitter.com/HigherMagic/status/1306255295010738176). Also, it's probably generally inspired by the many, many fics Rowan has written and I've absorbed by osmosis as I've read them over and over, so if you haven't already go check them out.

The walls are a bright, clean, white in the winding hallways that seemingly have endless offshoots and doorways. The Baltimore State Heat Clinic is a maze Hannibal has walked many times before. His office is far from the entrance, deep in the twists and turns that comprise the bowels of the building. As he walks, he considers the file he was reviewing before the ring of his phone interrupted and notified him that his next client was ready and waiting. The interruption had been a minor inconvenience when the file itself was so lacking in information. As someone who tended to get assigned the clients who were least cooperative and highest risk, it was typical for him to receive files with “ _N/A”_ typed next to most of the questions. Such a caseload was a challenge, but saved him from boredom and repetition.  
  
Hannibal arrives at the proper door soon after he sees Matthew saunter away and hears the jingle of his keys fade along with him. He knocks on the door quickly and precisely – not too loud or too insistent – and waits until he can hear a voice call “ _Come in_.”  
  
Beyond the door, Hannibal’s latest client – named _Will Graham_ , as his file indicated – stands in the center of the room. His unease is obvious in the tension in his posture and it is emphasized by just how out of place he looks. His dark brown curly hair and navy shirt clash with the creams and beiges in the rug, the bedclothes, and upholstery of the chairs, as well as the light stain of the wood used for the desk and bedframe. In a room designed to soothe an Omega in how it dances the line between cozy and clinical, this particular Omega seems decidedly agitated.  
  
“Hello,” Hannibal greets simply as he holds out a hand for a handshake. “My name is Hannibal Lecter and I’ll be your heat partner.”  
  
“You’re an Alpha,” Will states and the furrow that creases his brow is as harsh and deep-set as the incredulous tone of his voice.  
  
“Yes,” Hannibal confirms as he drops his hand to his side.  
  
“That might not be ideal,” Will remarks as his eyes flit quickly away from the barely-there red that rings Hannibal’s irises. As intentionally bland as the room is, it leaves little to analyze or consider, but, even so, Will’s attention jumps from one innocuous object to the next.  
  
Although Hannibal hasn’t exactly been invited to make himself comfortable, he takes a seat in one of the two chairs that sit positioned at just the right angle and proximity against one of the walls. Will doesn’t follow him, doesn’t budge, doesn’t acknowledge that he’s moved. He remains standing stock-still as if he had been forbidden to do anything else.  
  
“Are you uncomfortable being paired with an Alpha?” Hannibal asks as he folds his hands over a bent knee.  
  
“It is well-known that Omegas react more strongly to Alphas during heat,” Will recites with a tense blink, almost a flinch. The wave of his hand looks like habit built through the repetition of lecture after lecture and Hannibal recalls that Will’s occupation as an instructor had been one of the few pieces of information included in the file.  
  
“Yes, that is well-known,” Hannibal agrees. It is common knowledge that, while anyone can service an Omega through a heat, Omegas and Alphas are biologically primed for each other. Their physiology puts them on a collision course with great potential for creation and destruction. “You did not specify a preference,” Hannibal reminds him.  
  
Their intake clinician, Beverly, can typically be relied on to be attentive. Hannibal has come to understand that if the information is not in the paperwork, he can usually reasonably assume that it’s not because she forgot to ask. Therefore, if Will did not specify when he was asked, Hannibal can then assume he at least entertained the possibility and deemed it to some degree acceptable. This is an assumption confirmed as Will drops his hands to hang limp at his side and nods his head as a concession.   
  
“Rather than spend your heat with a friend or more casual service,” Hannibal observes, “you came here to an in-patient program for Omegas who – for one reason or another – generally consider heat to be more suffering than pleasure.”   
  
“There didn’t seem to be any other option left,” Will mutters as he shifts his weight on his feet. He gives the impression of a frightened animal, longing to bolt but too afraid of the attention that would bring, stuck right in the middle of the trifecta of fight, flight, and freeze.  
  
“There are always options, Will,” Hannibal teases with an admonishing tilt of his head.  
  
Will pulls a deep breath through his nose in exasperation. “Not _good_ ones,” he insists as his mouth twitches towards a frown. The look in his eye is sharp and stubborn. Before Will, Hannibal might not have described eye contact as adversarial.  
  
Hannibal settles deeper into his chair and leans back against it as he shifts his hands comfortably into his lap instead. “I was told you entered this program because you are no longer able to take suppressants.”  
  
Will’s nod is slight and tense. “Developed a tolerance and then a side effect from increasing the dose,” he explains plainly.  
  
“You started to hallucinate,” Hannibal says, just as plain.   
  
Will blinks away again towards the middle distance. “Yes.”  
  
Hannibal’s hum is casual, nonchalant. “What did you hallucinate?”  
  
“It’s not relevant,” Will states with an air of finality. It is a tone that demonstrates that Will has already made the decision to deny Hannibal the opportunity to weigh in. “I’m here because I can’t take suppressants. I stopped the suppressants and the hallucinations stopped. So long as I never go back on the suppressants, my hallucinations don’t matter.”  
  
Hannibal hums. It’s a battle he could win but one not worth fighting. Strong-arm techniques are hardly worth the risk – that may in itself be Will’s best tactic. “What are your previous experiences with heat?” Hannibal asks instead.  
  
The blink of Will’s eyes becomes anxious and the fight in him seems to wane with every open and close. “Only once,” he admits as he rubs at his eyes with heavy presses of his fingers. “When I presented.”  
  
“What happened?”  
  
“I tried,” Will confesses. He had smelled of mint and lemongrass when Hannibal arrived. The scent now wilts and withers in the harsh, open air. The sadness laced within the withering pulls at Hannibal, while Will’s anxiety crackles in the air like static and glints like the rail at the sound of an approaching train.  
  
Hannibal lifts his brow at the sudden hesitance and stammer in Will’s voice. “Tried?” Hannibal repeats curiously.  
  
“To be good,” Will says like it hurts, like the words have barbs that punish him on the way out.  
  
“And you failed?” Hannibal asks, peering into the wounds the barbs left behind.  
  
Will flinches and ducks his head down and away from Hannibal’s gaze. “Spectacularly,” he whispers, a rough rasp.   
  
“Is that what you hope to get from this experience?” Hannibal asks curiously. “To be good?”  
  
The smile that curves Will’s lips is half-hearted and lopsided. The turn of it holds as much humor as self-deprecation. “My hope is that we both come out of this in one piece.”  
  
When their first session has finished, the deep sigh of breath that Will releases is telling, as is the slump of his shoulders and shift of his feet. As Hannibal closes the door to his room, he leaves him to his reprieve – albeit a brief one. Will is set to endure Bedelia and Alana next, shortly followed by a group session, which, given Will’s behavior, he is nearly guaranteed to dislike. But, even if Will might say he’d rather it not be the case, the clinic’s program is nothing if not comprehensive. Their reputation is built on the marriage between planning and execution and has been heightened by Chilton’s flair for publicity.   
  
Hannibal will get time every day with Will and monitor his progress. Although Will’s next heat offers a rather definitive finish line, there is no current need to rush. The time and space before his next session with Will will allow him to see what efforts he goes to in order to settle in. However, when he next visits Will, the room is exactly the same, almost untouched. The only sign that time has passed and Will has not remained frozen is that he has at least taken his seat in the opposite chair.   
  
“I never had a taste for therapy,” Will declares at the start.  
  
“Therapy only works when we have a genuine desire to know ourselves as we are, not as who we would like to be,” Hannibal suggests. He keeps the smile from his lips and the pointedness from his tone as he asks, “Tell me, Will, what does it mean to be _good_?”  
  
“Stable, dependable, safe,” Will recites, another something practiced, always on his mind and twisting his tongue.  
  
Hannibal looks at Will steadily. He eyes and evaluates the control in the twitch of Will’s cheek and clench of his jaw. “What is the value of those qualities?” he questions.  
  
Will’s voice is artificially shallow and plain as he says, “Sounds like someone you can trust with a family.”  
  
“You want a family,” Hannibal remarks.  
  
“Doesn’t matter,” Will says bitterly. “I’m unstable and unruly and, when I’m in heat, I’m not—” Will pauses and flinches away from his own blow as he continues, “I’m not _right_.”  
  
Hannibal hums. “I would not have expected you to hold so strongly to Omegan stereotypes.”  
  
“This isn’t about _stereotypes_ ,” Will snaps, so biting that Hannibal can nearly hear clack of his teeth. “It’s about _safety_.”  
  
The glint of Will’s teeth is quickly hidden away as Will shifts in his seat and rolls his neck. Hannibal watches the clench of Will’s hands against the arms of his chair, creating harsh divots in the cushion.  
  
“You’ve brought yourself to a place of healing with the intention of being contained and tamed,” Hannibal observes.  
  
Will’s eyes close. His voice is suddenly thick and wet as he explains, “I’ve struggled to accept that I’m undesirable.”  
  
“Forcing oneself to accept something that is not true can be an impossible task,” Hannibal tells him. “How would you react if I told you that the way to be _right_ and _good_ would be to allow yourself to be intimate with your instincts?”  
  
“I wouldn’t believe you.”  
  
“Some things might be best learned through experience,” Hannibal agrees. This philosophy is the backbone of the clinic, after all. This is the purpose for merging traditional heat partners and therapy. “What is touch like for you?”  
  
“Intense,” he says with a groan.  
  
Hannibal tips his head in consideration. “During heat?”  
  
“All the time,” Will sighs. “It can be _overwhelming_.”  
  
“Quite possibly in part a product of denying yourself,” Hannibal declares. He imagines that Will’s fear is pervasive enough to make any slight temptation synonymous with danger. The longer he fears what lies in the shadows, the larger the shadows grow and the more heat lies growling in the darkness. Will has failed to recognize how his eyes only need time to adjust. “I wonder how you might react to the suggestion to masturbate,” Hannibal suggests.  
  
Will furrows his brow. “What?”  
  
“I could observe how you give yourself pleasure,” Hannibal explains. “And, by extension, how you experience pleasure.”  
  
“Now?” he asks as he licks his lips.  
  
Hannibal smiles softly as he asks, “Would you prefer to do it later?”  
  
Will gives a wry laugh. “I would prefer never.”  
  
Hannibal tsks his tongue and counters, “Given the inevitability of your heat, I would suggest that _never_ may not be possible.”  
  
Will sighs. He flexes his hands and splays fingers wide. They both watch as his hands shake and tremble in midair. “I’m not sure how to start,” he confesses.  
  
“However you like,” Hannibal encourages. He shows his open hands in casual invitation. “And anything that would be of use to you, will be provided. You only need to ask.”  
  
“If you would talk to me,” Will says softly and with careful consideration. Hannibal envisions how Will’s tongue carefully shapes each word. “That would help.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
Hannibal leans forward in his seat, resting his elbows against his knees and lacing his hands together. He observes the hesitance in Will’s touch as he drags his hands down the outsides of his thighs. In the silence, Hannibal can hear the friction. Will’s hands are so careful to keep the clink of his belt as quiet as possible. He does the same with the button, soon followed by the zipper.  
  
Hannibal watches as Will slides the back of his knuckles along the bared teeth of the zipper and over the flimsy cotton of his boxers underneath. He can see the curl of Will’s fingers as he grips at his cock through the fabric. Will bites his lips and turns the side of his face against the high back of the chair, but he isn’t able to fully hide away the wrinkle of his brow and the pink starting to bloom at his cheek.  
  
“As you touch yourself, I want you to become in tune with your instincts,” Hannibal instructs as Will licks at his lips, anxiously twitches his fingers, and grinds down with the heel of his hand. “Bring your awareness to what would bring you pleasure and pursue it.”  
  
Hannibal keeps his gaze as steady as his tone, enough to entice Will with the attention but not alarm him. Will tilts his head back just enough to blink his eyes towards him and Hannibal feels his lips turn towards a smile at the hesitant, hopeful look in Will’s eyes. Will holds this sliver of eye contact as he starts to touch firmer and faster, but looks away as his cock strains against the confines of his boxers.  
  
“That’s good, Will,” Hannibal praises.  
  
He watches as a swallow travels down Will’s throat and wishes he could track the movement with his tongue or his lips. The longing is nearly as powerful as his wish that it was his hands on Will instead. He wants to touch Will’s cock and wants to pull pleasure from him with the stroke of his hand as he kisses away the tension at Will’s mouth. It’s a yearning that burns brighter knowing he that he can’t and is only slightly satisfied by the knowledge that it will come to be when it’s time.  
  
“Allow your body to act as a conduit,” Hannibal instructs next. “Let thoughts, feelings, and actions flow through freely. Follow the impulses as you feel them without judgement.”  
  
Will bites at his lip and ducks his head as he pulls down his waistband and exposes his cock to open air and Hannibal’s scrutiny. A strong, solid hand with capable fingers circle around the base of his cock, travel up, turn, and sink back down again. Will hisses at his own touch as he continue his strokes skin-to-skin. Will’s cock fits so well in his hand that Hannibal’s palm itches with envy and his own cock strains and throbs against the layers of his clothes.  
  
As his hand moves faster and faster and rougher and rougher, Will pants and moans wetly as much in pain as in pleasure. Hannibal can see in the fitful shift of Will’s feet against the floor and the stiffness in Will’s shoulder that he is wrestling once more with fight and flee. Will’s breath hisses through his teeth as he tenses and his back arches as he forces himself to hold his breath.  
  
“You’ll want to retreat,” Hannibal soothes. His voice takes on a tone of calm and caring as he encourages, “Don’t go inside.”  
  
Will hardly seems to listen. His back gives another lurching arch as his hand flies to grapple and grip at the back of his neck. Will fumbles to press at the nape where the glands lie and, when properly pressed, will activate the biological systems that create a reflex to go limp and relax.  
  
Hannibal raises to his feet at the sight and crosses the space to kneel by Will’s chair. “There is no need to suppress your instincts. I am here with you,” Hannibal reassures as he watches the clench and flex of Will’s jaw and the grit of his teeth. “Stay with me.”  
  
When Will’s eyes blink open, the ring of gold that lies within burns bright, hot, and molten. He watches those eyes track him as he raises a hand slowly and, under Will’s careful attention, he takes gentle hold of Will’s wrist. Hannibal can feel the tendons relax as he guides Will’s hand away from his neck and he only has a split second before Will tenses again and strikes. Will’s fingers, denied something to cling to, seek out the back of Hannibal’s neck as penance. They press messy and merciless as they take their hold and Hannibal can feel the ache harsh and insistent under Will’s grip.  
  
“That’s it,” Hannibal purrs. “You’re doing so well, Will.”  
  
Will gives a mighty yank and threatens to topple Hannibal as he pulls. However, Hannibal neither topples nor fortifies. He simply anchors his hands and lets himself sway with the crashing tide of Will’s desire. When Will pulls him up higher, Hannibal raises up to meet him. Will’s eyes are wide and searching as they flit across Hannibal’s face – from mouth to eyes and back again.  
  
“Ask me and I will happily provide,” Hannibal coaxes, wanting as much of the treasured gold in Will’s eyes as can be found. A treasure hidden away has its mystique but a treasure discovered is the stuff of legends. “Take and I will happily give.”  
  
Will’s hand holds firm at the back of his neck while Hannibal can feel Will’s other hand abandon his cock. A palm that smells of heady salt and sweetness presses against his cheek and there is the rough brush of a thumb against his cheekbone. The thumb then digs down into the hollow of his cheek as if testing the shape of his teeth underneath.  
  
“Your mouth,” Will remarks. His voice rasps, strained and thick. “Would you give me that?”  
  
Hannibal smiles against the pressure of Will’s thumb. “Gladly,” he promises.   
  
Will’s hand falls away again and takes hold at his cock once more as Hannibal settles himself between Will’s legs. With precise, practiced touch, he parts the fabric at Will’s fly further. Up close, Will is even more magnificent than he was far away. His scent, his touch, the sound of his panting breaths, the sight of him in his pleasured agony – they are all the more vibrant and beautiful.  
  
Will slouches deeper into the chair. Between the dark navy of his jeans and shirt, the jut of his flushed red cock is a beacon. As Will holds it at the base, Hannibal allows himself to be guided to it. He licks along the length of it and tastes at the tip. He savors Will as he licks another long stripe, but the grip of an impatient hand takes hold at his hair. Fingers thread themselves back down near the base of his skull and catch, firm and demanding. Will uses his hold to press deeper into Hannibal’s mouth, down to the root. Hannibal pulls a breath in through his nose as his throat and tongue clench and flex against the intrusion and Will’s scent makes his mouth water.  
  
Hannibal can hear the shudder of a breath come from above him and matches it with his own muffled moan. He lets it reverberate through his throat and his mouth as Will’s moan reverberates in the twitch of his hand. When the tremor loosens at Will’s grip, Hannibal uses the leeway to pull off. As Hannibal starts to suck him deep and hard, Will groans and jerks hips in erratic thrusts.  
  
He focuses on every signal Will’s body as to offer. He knows now the sound of Will as he approaches orgasm. He knows of the wet hiss at his teeth. Where Will before flinched and retreated, Hannibal does not feel the same fear and it only makes him more determined. The fabric of the chair groans under the grip of Will’s hand and Hannibal can feel clenching of his muscles coil further.  
  
It is with the spill in his mouth that Hannibal finally experiences just how Will collapses. He bears witness to the way that all Will’s tension comes undone and leaves him lax. Hannibal licks at his lips as he leans away as Will pulls in breaths that rush back out again, pulling and jerking at a body that has already surrendered.  
  
Hannibal’s knees ache as he stands and his feet tingle slightly from a lack of circulation, but he hardly notices. He simply treads a little carefully as he watches Will from above and memorizes how Will’s lashes are long, dark, and delicate as they rest against his beautifully pink cheeks. as He brushes the back of his fingers against the smooth skin at Will’s cheekbone, Hannibal wishes he collect the color and keep it.   
  
“You are wonderful, Will,” Hannibal praises as he leans down to kiss at the sweaty hair at the top of Will’s head. He smiles when Will simply lolls his head lazily into the touch as he whimpers.


	2. Chapter 2

Hannibal is only one more turn and a few doors away from Will’s room for yet another of their sessions together when he hears the cadence of Alana’s pace behind him. She has a firmer, heavier walk than Frederick and Anthony, who tend to stroll and saunter, and she is far faster than Bedelia, who has refused to become familiar with the concept of _rushing_. Knowing the inevitability of whatever conversation she has in mind, he pauses and turns to her with a polite smile. The look she gives him in return is kind even as she carries concern in the furrow of her brow.   
  
The scent of vulnerable Omegas clings to her hair as he has known many an Omega to cling at her arms and her skirts. Alana attracts the kinds of Omegas that crave stability and coddling. She skillfullly puts them at ease but has struggled to get them to loosen their grip once the heat passes. Earlier on in her career, Hannibal had watched time and time again as she crushed dreams with a clinical declaration that the feelings were not mutual. As her mentor, he’d had to teach her the proper, polite way to say goodbye. This is a skill he can feel will be particularly vital – and particularly challenging – when Will’s heat has come and gone.   
  
“Can we consult?” Alana asks him.   
  
“Is it about Will?” he asks.   
  
He can only have one client at a time. There have been times when clinics have tried to have multiple, but disaster is tempted when banking on the timeliness of a heat. Omegas generally like to settle into a nest like a barricade and cling to a partner like the last of the rations, so to foster a connection with an Omega and abandon them when the time came could deal as much damage as it had hoped to heal.   
  
“Yes,” Alana sighs. “He won’t talk in group. He just sits silently and when we ask him if he wants to say anything, he just says no.”  
  
“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Hannibal replies, to which Alana nods her head in recognition. “Will seems to be fiercely private.”  
  
In the conversations Will and Hannibal have had since Will was admitted, Will has shared with him how barebones he’d been raised, including an upbringing that created a taboo secrecy surrounding heat. Will told him how his dad disappeared for days at a time for an _obligation_ and told Will nothing of heats before he presented. However, as much as Will has shared these little tidbits, he has avoided sharing most of the details of his one and only prior heat. This has left Hannibal to come to his own conclusion that blood was spilled, though he still doesn’t know how or how much or if his singular predecessor even lived to tell the tale.   
  
“Have any of the group members made any comments?” Hannibal asks.   
  
Alana gives another sigh, exasperated this time rather than disappointed. “No,” she says, “I think they’re too afraid of the conflict.”  
  
Hannibal hums. He isn’t surprised by that either. Nearly all of the clients that come to this particular program at this particular clinic are conflict-averse and tending towards self-sacrifice for one reason or another. Will is similar in that way, though he may refuse to see it as such.   
  
“Bedelia and I tried to pull him aside after group and talk to him,” Alana informs him.   
  
“What did he say?”   
  
“Just enough to get by,” she says with a roll of her eyes. She counts on her fingers as she lists off, “No, he doesn’t feel comfortable in group. No, there’s nothing we can do to help. No, he _definitely_ doesn’t want to discuss it with the group.”  
  
Hannibal tsks his tongue and promises, “I will talk with him.”   
  
She smiles at him sweetly and the touch of her hand on his arm is soft with affection and gratitude as she says, “Thank you, Hannibal.”  
  
Hannibal simply nods politely and continues on his way. The scent of the hallways is neutral and clinical by design, which can be a nice palate cleanser with all the different scents from the various clients in various stages of pre-heat and heat. He draws in one last breath from the hallway as he waits at Will’s door.   
  
When Will calls out his permission, Hannibal enters his room and is hit with the scents of mint and lemongrass that he has come to associate with Will – with the addition of some sweetness, as if sugar has been melted in. He knows what it means when an Omega starts to sweeten. He has kept close attention to the changes not only in Will’s attitude but also his physiology. He suspects that the turn of Will’s scent gives them at maximum a handful of days until his heat. Although Will looks to be pale and with a fine sheen of sweat, he does not smell of anything fevered, which leads Hannibal to suspect that it will be perhaps on the upper edge of his estimation.  
  
“Hello, Will,” Hannibal greets.   
  
Will leans back against the foot of his bed instead of seating himself in the chairs as he’s developed the habit of doing. Out of a sense of routine and, perhaps, professional courtesy, he and Will have tended to start their sessions in the chairs even if they don’t always remain there. As they have familiarized themselves with Will’s pleasure and have evolved in their study, they’ve sometimes decided to stand to kiss and other times moved to the bed.   
  
“Hello, Hannibal,” Will huffs breathlessly and smiles with lips that are too hesitant and teeth that are too sharp.   
  
“I just came from a conversation with Alana,” Hannibal says and watches as Will’s expression quickly sours. “She tells me you don’t participate in group.”  
  
The next huff of Will’s breath is tetchy. “I don’t see the point,” he remarks.  
  
“Group can help you to gain insight you’ve been denied or have denied yourself,” Hannibal reminds him. “It is meant to reveal aspects of yourself you are unable to see on your own.”  
  
“I can’t tell them what’s creeping around in my head,” Will argues through clenched teeth. “A blink in their direction makes them flinch.”  
  
Hannibal approaches Will in consideration. With his first step, Will flinches, a jerk of his neck and wince that Hannibal has become well-acquainted with. “When you’re in group, how do you feel?” he asks as his eyes study the lines made by the turn of Will’s eyebrows, the clench of his jaw, and the baring of just the tips of his teeth.  
  
“Dangerous,” Will whispers with just the small amount of space he allows his teeth.   
  
When Hannibal’s next step brings them nearly chest-to-chest, Will arches his back and curves his shoulders open and wide. It is an action that brings a smile of affection to Hannibal’s lips. “And with me?”   
  
“Unsure,” Will gasps.   
  
As much as the answer may try to take a stab at the affection that has bloomed in his chest, the attempt to wound him fails for the simple reason that Hannibal cannot say he expected anything different. Will has kept him in a space of unknowing.   
  
There have been times when Hannibal has felt great progress. Hannibal felt a rush of satisfaction the first time Will requested a kiss and then quickly progressed to pressing their mouths together with a starving frenzy. When Will gripped at Hannibal’s suit jacket with two desperate hands and moaned against his lips, Hannibal had savored Will’s vulnerability as he would savor a delicacy long left to marinate.   
  
However, the taste had turned sour the next day when Will greeted him as closed-off and distant as when they first met. The cycle has repeated itself as Will seemed to seek Hannibal’s reassurance as much as he rejected it. Each day would start a little colder than the day before but end a little warmer too. Talking whittled away at Will’s emotional barricades and collapse has been found in Will’s gasping, breathy demands for Hannibal’s mouth and his hand.  
  
Hannibal tilts himself nearer now and brings them nearly close enough to kiss. He waits until they are sharing the same air to ask, “Have you considered that suppressing your instincts has prevented you from becoming their master?”  
  
“Yes,” Will snaps, then flinches so hard that he risks bashing his nose against Hannibal’s cheek. His eyes slip closed as he says, “The risk is too high for the reward.”  
  
“Not here,” Hannibal soothes. “You can experience your instincts here with me, Will.”  
  
“I can’t,” Will insists.  
  
“You don’t frighten me,” Hannibal promises. “I know what you’re afraid of, but I’m not afraid.”  
  
“And when I draw blood?” Will questions. “When I fight?”  
  
“I can endure it,” Hannibal reassures as he has before. He has made this promise many times and knows Will will make him promise it many more. “I’ve endured all manner of challenges with clients before, I assure you.”  
  
Will ducks his head as he says, “I don’t want you to tell me that other clients hurt you.”  
  
Hannibal smiles as he raises one hand and anchors it at the edge of Will’s jaw. He uses the press of his thumb underneath to urge Will’s head to tilt upwards again. “I only mean to say that you don’t need to worry about me,” he explains. “We can restrain you if we have to, but I don’t anticipate needing to use it. This is an opportunity for you to experience your greatest fear and see there is nothing to be afraid of. You may find that good things happen when you allow yourself to be unrestrained in body and mind.”  
  
Will still resists making eye contact for longer than the split second to flit his eyes back and away, but Hannibal can feel the thud of Will’s blood in the pulse against his hand and he can smell the shift in Will’s scent that suggests pliancy.   
  
“Have I earned your trust?” Hannibal asks.   
  
Will chances as longer look and in his eyes Hannibal sees genuine surprise, as if shocked that Hannibal could consider it uncertain. “Yes,” Will says earnestly.   
  
“Good,” Hannibal remarks with the brush of his thumb against Will’s cheek. “You have had mine.”  
  
Will doesn’t say another word – doesn’t ask, doesn’t question. He simply closes the bit of distance left between them and presses their lips together. It’s not a hungry, frantic touch as it has been before. Will is softer and slower as he allows Hannibal to follow his lead. With every shift, every new angle, every change in pressure, Hannibal finds himself wondering if Will savors him too. He doesn’t chase Will as he pulls away. He tastes the words that are about to come from Will’s lips and finds them tangy and sweet.   
  
“If I,” Will starts as he licks at his lips, “If I wanted to use my mouth on you instead, would you trust my teeth then?”  
  
“Without a doubt.”  
  
When Will then pushes lightly at Hannibal’s shoulders, he complies easily and Will’s slide to the floor afterwards is just as easy. On his knees, he is enclosed in between Hannibal and the end of the bed and Will sighs as Hannibal lays his hands on Will’s shoulders to bracket him further.   
  
As Will’s fingers unfasten his belt, Hannibal considers how throughout the development of their touch, their clothes have remained layers of propriety – but not at Hannibal’s insistence. He has seen the many expressions of Will’s face and kissed at his lips. He has been allowed to witness as Will’s cock hardens and touch him until he reaches orgasm. But, through it all, Will has avoided showing him his belly – metaphorical or otherwise – and, though Hannibal knows Will is aware he could, Will has not asked for Hannibal to bare himself either.   
  
With his belt, button, and zipper out of the way, Hannibal’s cock throbs in anticipation of touch. As Will leans in closer, Hannibal slips his eyes closed and tips back his head to heighten the suspense. His muscles jolt in surprise before he has the chance to register the feeling of Will’s teeth at his thigh.   
  
With his teeth blunted by the layer of Hannibal’s suit pants, it is unlikely that Will would do damage, but the wet of his mouth and press of his tongue are sure to leave a wet spot on the pale blue fabric. When it seems suitably damp – perhaps damp enough to make walking through the hallway potentially embarrassing – Will seals the mark with a harsher clench and press of his jaw. It is just enough to ensure that Hannibal feels the desire and, in Will’s mind, the risk. Hannibal can feel how Will wants him to know what he’s risking.   
  
Although he may have flinched before, Hannibal refuses to allow even a finger to twitch. As Will’s fingers finally free his cock from his clothes, he keeps the touch of his fingers though Will’s hair tender and steady.   
  
He’s hard and aching as Will touches at him. Will’s tongue and heat of his mouth has Hannibal groaning. The way Will uses his mouth is chaotic but methodical. He tests different ways of licking and sucking just until he finds the ways that make Hannibal moan deep into his chest and tests his control. As soon as he discovers what he’s looking for, he moves on to his next conquest, doing this over and over until Hannibal thinks it is Will’s mission to drive him mad from being teased and denied.   
  
When Will takes all of him into his mouth, Hannibal can feel the tip of Will’s nose press against his skin as Will flexes his tongue and his throat. Although this is perhaps nothing unique or exclusive to them, Hannibal has the sense of it echoing across their time together. Through the blur of pleasure, he finds himself wondering if Will absorbed this from the many times now that Hannibal has done the same. He contemplates the possibility that Will has been studying Hannibal as Hannibal has been trying to study him. Perhaps every discovery Hannibal has congratulated himself for has been matched by one of Will’s own.   
  
“Such a clever boy,” Hannibal remarks.   
  
Will shivers at the praise and Hannibal allows a similar tremble as Will pulls away. When Will tilts his head up towards at him, the look in his eyes is like nothing Hannibal has seen before. Will has looked at him with the sharpness of a rebuttal or the harshness of a keen insight and Hannibal has seen the gold in Will’s eyes shine and burn. However, the look he sees now has a certain cutting edge that Hannibal has yet to have the opportunity to witness.   
  
He barely has time to marvel before a hand grabs at his ass greedily and grips tight. He groans as Will pulls in a deep, unconstrained breath and allows his panting breaths to brush against Hannibal’s sensitive cock.   
  
“If I tried to mount you,” Will rasps as he squeezes his hand harder, “if I put you on your belly and you could feel me rub against your ass, would you allow it? Would you let me sink in a deep as I could?”  
  
“Yes,” Hannibal answers. “I will care for you with all that I am.”  
  
Will nods in quiet agreement and takes Hannibal in his mouth again. Will uses his hold on his ass as he sucks and nearly forces Hannibal to thrust in his mouth. He seems to use everything he has learned about what Hannibal likes and how to pull Hannibal’s pleasure from him. He inflicts this knowledge and his clever tongue all at once until pleasure sparks and fizzes at Hannibal’s skin from his scalp to his toes. It is only then that he lets Hannibal have his orgasm.   
  
He moans as he spills into Will’s mouth and, once Will has satisfied himself with swallowing him down, he slumps forward and sideways to rub against his leg. The bulge of his cock grinds against Hannibal’s calf only a few times before Will shudders and shakes with gasping breaths against Hannibal’s hip. Will is still panting through lax, open lips as Hannibal tucks his cock back into his pants and kneels on the floor beside him.   
  
“You’re coming along so nicely,” Hannibal says with a simple kiss to Will’s red-stained cheek.   
  
Later, when Hannibal walks down the hall and ignores glances to the spot on his pants, he distracts himself with thoughts of Will: the gold in his eyes, the feel of his teeth, how he smiles when he is praised. As he closes his office door behind him, he also thinks he might recall that as he’d stood from kneeling, he’d caught sight of the corner of a pillow forgotten and squashed behind the hasty shove of a desk chair.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is disappointed by the "condom use" tag...just wait.

Hannibal feels the slight burn of his tea against his tongue as he sips. He rolls his neck to the side as the sweet, floral scent rises with the steam, so similar to the cloud of Will’s pre-heat scent that lingers and refuses to fade. He wets his mouth with another drink of the tea to swallow back how his mouth waters with the memory. His eyes slip closed and there’s a burning behind his eyelids. As he pulls in a deep breath, he envisions the red ring at his irises fading.  
  
The door hinge squeaks, heels clink against the floor in a hurried fluster, the air shifts around him and a gasping breath sounds. He opens his eyes to the sight of Alana, flushed in the face and with hair unkempt. She doesn’t give him a moment for a polite greeting before she takes the cup from his hand.  
  
“Hannibal, you have to come,” she insists as she sets it aside on the counter and takes hold of his arm.  
  
As she guides him out of the door and into the hallway, the rushes of air that gust across Alana’s skin reach his nose. He can clearly smell the vinegary scent of fear, softened faintly by the sweet scent that had been taunting him over tea. With each step and each turn taken or bypassed, Hannibal can feel the burn at his eyes grow and, alongside it, a demanding, instinctual _yank_ like the strings of a marionette tied to the lungs and heart in his chest.  
  
With the demand at his lungs, his voice comes out strained as he asks, “Has something happened to Will?”  
  
“He’s in heat,” she says, her words coming out in a rush as she runs her hands clumsily through her hair, further unwinding the waves she so carefully crafts. The twists and turns collide and contradict between anxious fingers.  
  
A client going into heat usually wouldn’t put her in such a tizzy, even one that comes earlier than expected. Heat can be a fickle thing. Influenced by time, place, and proximity to a mate, predicting a heat is more an art than a science and they’ve had to adjust to an unexpected heat many times before. Once, an Omega was so fearful of heat that he still went to group despite being in the thick of the first bout. The intensity of his scent and the pheromones carried within had very nearly set off every Omega in the room.  
  
Even so, Alana doesn’t need to say why this untimely heat manages to still frazzle her. He knows.  
  
He and Alana turn another corner and Hannibal can see the crowd gathered at Will’s door. Nurses and orderlies clump in the hallway under the guise of offering help. Hannibal can tell one of the orderlies has some sort of gouge in his face as blood trickles between his fingers and out from under his palms to fall and stain at the bright whites of his uniform. Hannibal has no doubt that underneath that meaty hand is the shape of a wound that matches perfectly to the alignment of Will’s teeth.  
  
“Get them out of here,” Hannibal instructs Alana. That instinctual yank in his chest constricts and tugs until his ribs seem to crush him from within and threaten to spear him through the heart.  
  
“We were trying to avoid restraining him,” Alana explains apologetically. Her sigh holds the same conscience-stricken tone as she says, “But now they can’t even _get to him_.”  
  
“Everyone leaves,” he insists as he blinks his eyes against the sting.  
  
He knows Alana can see the red in his eyes. She couldn’t miss it. He would be surprised if his eyes were anything but wholly bright red. Regardless, she holds eye contact unafraid. She has never had reason to feel concerned about his ability to maintain his control. She has seen his eyes burn red and knows of his work. She’d observed him when she was a fresh graduate and just starting her position at the clinic. Her eyes had shone bright with intrigue and curiosity as the first time she watched him service an Omega through a heat.  
  
However, he imagines that the red ringing his eyes then pales in comparison to its vibrancy now. Feeling it burn so bright and so strong only goads him further. That he should sting and burn under Will’s passive influence incites him to seek the source of his suffering.  
  
Alana pushes through the crowd and shoos them away. As she escorts Hannibal to Will’s door, the bleeding orderly passes by him with a sneer and Hannibal withholds a smirk as the blood leaves little drops on the otherwise spotless white linoleum.  
  
Beyond the door, the room shows signs of a struggle. A chair has been tossed on its side and a bedside table looks to have a broken leg. There are pillows and blankets on the floor, but there is no resemblance to a nest. They are simply simply a cast off a mattress that has been pushed askew. Will himself, however, is nowhere to be found in the mess. The only visible person in the room is Matthew, kneeling on the floor by the bed. His uniform has a splash of blood across the back of it and he reaches under the bed with a hand at the end of a bloodstained sleeve.  
  
Although Matthew moves only his hand and only slightly, Hannibal can hear the rustle of fabric and weight shifting against the floor. There is a clear plastic mask and thick fabric restraints left neglected in a mess of a pile on the floor, barely within the orderly’s reach. Matthew smiles wide and sly when he turns towards Hannibal. The hand he puts over his mouth is one of awe, nearly bashful.  
  
“Get out,” Hannibal demands.  
  
“I was told to wrangle him,” Matthew argues. As he drops his hand away from his mouth, he reveals how his smile has twisted wickedly at one end.  
  
“I’m in charge of his care,” Hannibal reminds him. He can feel how his voice rumbles in his throat and deep into his chest. “ _Leave_.”  
  
A grunt comes from under the bed, which makes Matthew startle and snatch his hand away. He laughs short and quick and he rubs at his fingers as if to assure himself that they are still intact and connected. He shakes his head at Hannibal and the sharp look in his eyes suggests that he might argue further or outright refuse.  
  
“ _Matthew_ ,” Bedelia’s voice interjects from the doorway.  
  
Matthew winces and glares at Hannibal but decides against challenging. He takes his defeat in the hunch of his shoulders as he slips around Bedelia on his way out the door.  
  
“No one comes in,” Hannibal demands to her.  
  
Her expression is one of pure nonchalance. Her lips hold a neutral shape, neither a smile nor a frown. Her eyes have a trained compassionate detachment as she looks at him and for a moment he sees himself in her eyes: dressed in a three piece suit and stood in a mess of a room with a dark shadow under the bed. He blinks away the vision as Bedelia simply nods once and closes the door behind her and he can hear the click of the lock as he approaches the bed.  
  
His eyes still burn and his skin stings with the demand for touch, but the security of the room allows him to transmute the red-hot intensity of anger into the excitement of anticipation. With a deep breath, he focuses inward until the pound of his heart is a steady rhythm and the itch at his fingers is a calm, curious one.  
  
With one step too close, a hand darts out from under the bed and grabs at his ankle. Blunted by his pantleg, fingers press harshly and futilely at either side of his Achilles tendon. He tsks his tongue affectionately as he strips away his suit jacket and sets it aside on the desk surface. The hand retreats as lightning quick as it struck and disappears back under the bed as Hannibal shifts and reaches towards the floor. The plastic of the mask is thick and unforgiving against his fingers and palm as he picks it up and the restraints are similarly bulky and reenforced. He sets both aside on the desk next to his jacket.  
  
He unbuttons the ends of his sleeves and rolls them above his elbow as he crouches down next to the bed. There is a scuffling sound that goes silent as Hannibal lowers himself as close as he can to lying flat on the floor. He knows right away that the sight under the bed will always be a cherished one. The clench of his heart in his chest makes that a promise. Since he met Will, he has stored afterimages of Will in his quiet anger, his sharp suspicion, and his blushing pleasure. They were all beautiful visions with varying degrees of restraint. This is, however, is a masterpiece of reckless abandon.  
  
Will lays very nearly to the floor but remains poised on toes and fingertips. Hannibal can see that every muscle in Will’s arms is tense – from the tips of Will’s fingers to where his bicep disappears into the sleeve of his sweaty t-shirt. Will’s legs are much the same from his toes to where his thighs disappear underneath boxers that have a spot soaked through at the seat. His hair is unruly and damp with the sweat that gives his skin a slight sheen even in the shadow. His teeth, clenched and bared, gleam and shine in the dark and Hannibal can see smears of dried blood around his mouth, trickles and spurts that were wiped away with a careless hand.  
  
The fevered, sweet scent that has settled around Will like a fog and the pure concentration of it will ensure that the sense memory will move into the very foundations of Hannibal’s mind and settle in.   
  
Will’s teeth do a quick snap towards Hannibal’s hand as he reaches for the nape of Will’s neck. With the clack of his teeth, he cowers — as if the click of his teeth together reverberates down his spine. Hannibal opens his hand wide and tips it to show Will the harmlessness in the spread of his fingers and palm. Will knocks his sweaty forehead against the floor and curves the back of his neck in a silent invitation. Hannibal grips and presses his thumbs and fingers at either side of the nape of Will’s neck and squeezes, pressing on the glands in his neck. Will’s breath stutters wetly as he both relaxes and fights the relaxation.  
  
“It’s alright, Will,” Hannibal soothes, placating him in words, tone, and touch.  
  
Once Will’s body is less activated, there can be hope for calming his mind. Hannibal simply has to wait for Will’s survival instincts to register that there is no danger. With this in mind, Hannibal holds firm as Will screws his eyes shut and he clumsily grabs at Hannibal’s arm. Even with Will’s muscles instinctively relaxing, Hannibal can feel that if Will’s nails were longer and sharper they would happily pierce his skin and bleed him dry.  
  
Will’s moan is as much a sob as he finally lays flat against the floor and his hand falls away with a thud. Hannibal smiles softly as he shifts his hand away from his hold at Will’s neck and moves instead to pet at Will’s hair at the base of his skull. A shiver shakes Will under his touch as Will lets out another wet gasp.  
  
“Come out from under there, you wonderful, wild, little thing,” Hannibal coaxes.  
  
Will nods silently under his hand but he whines when Hannibal pulls away and moves to his feet. Hannibal ignores the whines and whimpers for the moment as he retreats to the ensuite bathroom.  
  
First, he retrieves two condoms from the drawer. There are plenty of others to be found in the desk drawer and bedside table, but he has to plan ahead for being caught in Will’s grasp. Next, he procures a washcloth and fills a bowl with hot water while he listens for Will crawling out from under the bed. When he returns to the main room, Will stands, staring with faraway intensity at the mask. Hannibal sets the water and cloth next to it and keeps his hands within Will’s view as he wets the washcloth and raises it towards the remnants of blood around Will’s mouth.   
  
When Will tilts his chin, Hannibal knows that it is not in pride or defiance but with the reluctant acknowledgement that anything else would get in the way. Will’s posture remains tense as Hannibal cleans him. Will does his best not to flinch under the touch of the washcloth against his skin but Hannibal can see in how tightly he holds his shoulders and clenches his fists that agitation simmers underneath. The longer Hannibal watches the more Will’s rigidity starts to tremble, ready to boil over.  
  
“Tell me,” Hannibal encourages once Will’s face is clean and Hannibal has set aside the bowl and pink-tinged water. His lips nearly twitch with how ardently he wants to kiss at Will’s warm skin, no longer red-stained but still carrying the scent of a lesser adversary’s blood.  
  
“I don’t know what to do,” Will whines. The flush of his skin somehow makes the rest of his face seem greyer and more sunken in.  
  
Hannibal hums kindly. “What do you want?”  
  
“ _I don’t know_ ,” Will insists desperately.  
  
Hannibal gives nothing in his expression and withholds his desire to touch Will once again. “Why did you go under the bed?” he asks.  
  
Will grits his teeth and grimaces off to the side as if he expects a blow to his cheek. “I wanted to feel safe,” he admits.  
  
Hannibal still restrains the hand that longs to pet at Will’s hair but allows a small smile as he asks, “Have you ever made a nest, Will?”  
  
Will recoils and flinches as if Hannibal had delivered that anticipated blow after all. “I don’t know how,” he whispers as bitter tears gather, glisten, and threaten to fall.  
  
“We will do it together,” Hannibal reassures. “Just tell me what you like and put it wherever feels right.”  
  
At the strained nod of Will’s head, Hannibal approaches the closet. Usually, by now, an Omega would have ransacked the closet and left it barren, but, as Hannibal opens the closet door, he finds it still stocked full of perfectly folded blankets and pillows that have been fluffed and plumped. They have been left untouched since the room was turned over for Will.  
  
He presents Will with blanket after blanket and pillow after pillow. Will selects the ones he wants and, with shaking hands, places them around the nest. When Will touches, grimaces, and shakes his head at one item or another, they get tucked back away in the closet. Hannibal can scent how slick pours from Will as they work, can hear in Will’s whines, and can see how it dampens his boxers. He keeps a close eye on Will as his hands grip at a pillow too tight and when he twists blankets roughly in his grasp. The only thing that keeps them from ripping is a shudder that runs down Will’s spine and forces his muscles to relax and turn receptive.  
  
When all the bedding has been sorted in one category or the other, Will pats at his creation, then climbs in and curls on his side. The nest he crafted lacks the refinement of practice and it likely won’t hold up for the whole of his heat. Regardless, Hannibal finds it truly exceptional.   
  
“Will you join me?” Will asks, nearly begging. The way his chin is tipped down and he looks up from under his lashes has him looking more timid and tender than Hannibal has ever seen him before.  
  
“Of course,” Hannibal says. His smile is soft with the knowledge that it is never a question of whether an Alpha would join an Omega in a nest, but whether an Omega would allow them. His smile is softened further by the knowledge that this is an awareness that Will either doesn’t share or doesn’t believe. “With such a beautiful nest, what reason could I possibly have not to?”  
  
Will flushes and keens at the praise. His legs shift fitfully and his hips stutter in little, halting thrusts as he watches Hannibal take off his shoes and set them aside and out of the way. Hannibal climbs into the nest with ease and rather than curling against Will or covering him with his body as Hannibal would like to, he leans back against one of the sturdier edges. Will’s eyes that had been so round and sweet squint as his hands twitch and clench. His legs give another squirm before he suddenly goes rigid.  
  
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Hannibal encourages.  
  
“I can’t do _anything_ _right_ ,” Will whispers as if lowering the volume of the confession would leave him less vulnerable, less exposed. He licks his lips and along the edges of his teeth as he confesses, “I can’t lash out and I can’t _not_.”  
  
“So long as you do what you want, you are doing it right,” Hannibal vows.  
  
“All I know is that it _hurts_ and I want you to help and I want you to _hurt_ ,” Will says through grit teeth with blush pinking his cheeks and tears glistening once more at the corners of his eyes.  
  
Hannibal longs to reach out and touch Will, to placate him with an affectionate touch or words of praise. He longs to, but won’t. He can’t interfere just as Will has hit a critical moment. “You know what to do,” he insists.  
  
Will’s hand lashes out – not with claws, not yet – and he grabs hold of Hannibal’s hand. Will squeezes it brutally in his grasp and closes his eyes as he leads Hannibal’s hand to where his cock is straining against the cotton of his boxers. Will’s hand quickly pulls away as soon as Hannibal’s fingers make contact, but Hannibal knows his is meant to stay. He grips as he knows Will intends him to and is rewarded with a shuttering sigh through Will’s lips, bitten bright red.  
  
Will’s cock twitches against his palm just from holding his grip. As he strokes Will’s cock over his boxers and feels the shape of it through the thin layer of fabric, it’s still the only place on Will that Hannibal touches. Despite how much this feels like a tease and how the memory of Will’s cock on this tongue makes his mouth water, Hannibal only lays by Will’s side in the nest and touches Will as he’s been silently instructed. As he waits, he drinks down Will’s scent like an aperitif before the start of the meal.  
  
Will moans as another damp spot blooms at the front of his boxers and it’s wet against Hannibal’s thumb as he presses. “Kiss me,” Will gasps and Hannibal does as he’s told.  
  
Hannibal keeps his stokes to Will’s cock firm as he brings his lips to Will’s. Through the touch of his lips and shake of Will’s breath, he can feel how Will shivers with the punishing ache that grows more and more insistent the longer it goes unsatisfied. Will’s touch grows more demanding and inflicts itself next on Hannibal’s clothes.  
  
If Hannibal had expected Will’s heat so soon, he would have changed into the customary uniform: simple scrubs, easily put on and easily taken off. But, as sudden as this heat has come on, he is still in too many layers for Will’s frantic fingers. Buttons fly as Will tears Hannibal’s shirt open. Some land dully on the plush padding of the nest and others ping against the linoleum floor. Only once Hannibal’s clothes have either been tugged or torn away does Will strip away his own clothes. Whether Will’s or Hannibal’s, torn or in one piece, clean or soaked in slick, Will tucks all of the individual pieces of fabric into the nest until they become part of the whole.  
  
Finally laid bare, they exist together without layers of propriety and unnecessary barriers. Hannibal is finally allowed to feel the edges of Will’s nails unimpeded as Will grabs for him again and pulls him close. Hannibal allows himself to be manhandled until he lies between Will’s legs, warm and damp with sweat. The touch of his fingers slips and slides against the slick that’s dripped and gushed from Will’s hole. He easily takes one finger and then a second as Hannibal strokes and stretches his fingers within Will’s willing hole.  
  
“More,” Will demands as harshness finds its way into his tone, the touch of his fingers, and the press of his lips.   
  
Will whines as Hannibal presses in a third finger, impatient that this isn’t the _more_ that he craved. Will’s cheeks are bright pink as he leans his head back and tries to push himself deeper and harder onto fingers that fail to satisfy even as they curl and touch.  
  
“ _Hannibal_ ,” Will groans, “ _in_.”  
  
Will expresses his displeasure with another hissing breath through grit teeth when Hannibal pulls away to open the packet and roll on the condom. The touch of his hand to his aching, neglected cock has Hannibal hissing too. He is impatient too to push into Will and feel his tight, wet, heat.  
  
Hannibal can feel as Will’s teeth lose their restraint when he at long last sinks in deep. After a gasp and a moan rips itself from Will’s throat, he brings their mouths back together and his teeth grow sharper and more insistent against his lips as they threaten to draw blood. Will drags the sharp tip of his tooth along his bottom lip. Hannibal presses his body heavier on top of Will, pins Will with his weight and covers him with touch that leaves behind his scent.  
  
Hannibal is driven to a punishing pace by the sting of Will’s nails scratching and clawing in a frenzy. Will seems to scratch whatever he can reach. With too little organization and too dulled claws, he doesn’t do much damage beyond the lines of stinging and burning he leaves behind. Will is just as fitful as he arches his back and writhes, impatiently trying to rub his cock between their bellies. Will’s twitching and leaking and Hannibal can feel the beginnings of his knot throb just as burning hot and insistent.  
  
When Will jerks his mouth away, the strain of his neck is tempting. Hannibal can practically hear the blood in Will’s veins. It’s the blood that would be spilled if Hannibal were to sink his teeth down around the gland in Will’s neck that tempts him like a siren’s call. Hannibal forces himself to feel the sharpness of his own teeth as he presses his nose to Will’s hair instead.  
  
Will’s knees pull up higher and wider and Hannibal anchors his hands in the nest and pushes in deeper. He uses the clench of the nest in his hands as leverage as he thrusts. Breaths choke in Will’s chest and Hannibal can feel the tense clench of Will’s muscles. Another snap of his hips has Will panting against his shoulder. His mouth is open wide, his breath is damp and wet, and the whimpers that escape from his lips are anxious, nearly fearful.  
  
Hannibal places as kiss to Will’s hair. “It’s okay to let go,” Hannibal promises as a shiver – or a tremble – travels Will’s spine, nearly rattling at his teeth. “You don’t have to be afraid of it.”  
  
Teeth pierce the skin of Hannibal’s shoulder when his knot pushes past Will’s rim and locks them together. Will’s cock twitches and spurts in between them as Hannibal spills into the condom. Hannibal’s cock continues to throb and pulse with the demanding clench of Will’s hole, desperately seeking what he’s being denied. Will makes an instinctive noise – half groan, half whine – and he sinks his teeth into the meat of Hannibal’s shoulder again as punishment, taking his blood as his atonement.  
  
Hannibal hums soothingly as he pets his fingers through Will’s sweat-damp hair. He can smell the metallic scent of his own blood and can taste it alongside the salt of Will’s tears when he kisses at Will’s mouth.  
  
“Magnificent,” Hannibal praises. His purr rumbles through his chest and against Will’s as he starts to tremble.   
  
When Will licks the blood from his teeth, the breath that yanks itself from his lungs sounds like a sob. “I’m sorry,” he pleads.  
  
“You’re doing so well, clever boy,” Hannibal promises and he kisses tenderly at Will’s cheek.  
  
Will’s fingers at Hannibal’s back still grip wide and insistent although he has dulled his nails once more. The knot keeps them locked together as Will curls himself into Hannibal’s embrace. Will tucks his face against Hannibal’s neck as his breaths continue to stutter, while Hannibal murmurs praise in his ear and laces his touch with affection as he pets at his skin anywhere he can reach.   
  
As Will drifts of to an exhausted sleep with tears still glistening alongside drying sweat, Hannibal himself starts to dream of a day when Will can embrace his ferocity without regret or fear, when he can taste his own blood on Will’s tongue and savor it like red wine. Although, perhaps there would be part of him that might miss the sweetness of Will’s vulnerability, cool and crisp like white wine. Sometimes he craves something pink.


	4. Chapter 4

As Will’s heat progresses, he cycles through aggression, despair, and shame. He bites wounds into Hannibal’s shoulders and his arms, scratches deep into his back, yanks at his hair. Then, with the taste of blood still on his tongue and red drying under his nails, Will whimpers and pleads his apologies. Hannibal has to withhold hisses of pain as Will fretfully pets at the wounds he left behind and tries to lick them clean. He simply whispers praises and reassurances while he caresses gently at Will’s back and along his flank. When the adrenaline fades and Will’s touches and licks finally slow, Will then curls into himself and trembles with shame. Hannibal covers him with his body and soothes him until has to use the pressure and presence of his weight not to soothe but to pin the snarling and thrashing again.  
  
The fluctuations only intensify as time goes on. Hannibal knows that the scent of his virility must sting at Will’s nose and create an aching hunger in his belly just as the scent of Will’s fertility does to him. In the absence of suppressants, there is nothing to curtail Will’s fertility or the cravings it creates. The instincts that Hannibal has encouraged Will to embrace time and time again have Will whining and whimpering at the presence of an Alpha that refuses to give his seed.  
  
Time passes strangely in the blur of a heat. The rising or setting of the sun has no relevance. There is only the desperation for touch and the exhaustion that forces sleep. When Hannibal becomes woozy and sick with hunger, he forces them both to eat, whether that means hand feeding Will as he tries to hide away his shame or wrangling Will long enough to get him to bite something else than his flesh and drink something other than his blood.   
  
Hannibal thinks a few days have passed when has Will seated in his lap as he fills yet another condom. The knot keeps them tied together even though it will do nothing to aid in conception. In the absence of that particular benefit, they are left then with only the softer intimacy of being connected to ease their craving.  
  
Hannibal slides his hands across skin that’s tacky with sweat and knows that the shivering has nothing to do with cold. Will’s licks at the newest wound on his shoulder have come to a stop and Hannibal can feel how Will’s jaw has locked closed and tight from the tension in Will’s cheek against his shoulder. Will’s fingers clench in tight fists and he’s tucked his arms to trap them in between their chests. His hole gives another demanding flutter and squeeze to encourage Hannibal to spill once again and Will shudders an anguished breath when a pulse of Hannibal’s cock shows how the effort is successful but remains fruitless.  
  
“What do you need, darling?” Hannibal asks as he shivers with the release. His head spins as the feelings of climax and anticlimax twirl and intertwine, leaving him feeling dizzy. He tethers himself in the present with the feel of Will’s skin under his hand and the rush of his breath.  
  
“I don’t know,” Will answers through teeth that clatter with the strength of his tremors.  
  
Hannibal tsks his tongue. “Yes, you do,” he chastises.  
  
“ _I can’t_ ,” Will gasps, pleading.  
  
Hannibal tilts his head and kisses at Will’s damp hair. Hannibal has already washed and dried these curls and waves twice, but he will need to run Will another bath soon. He takes in another deep breath of Will’s sweet, seductive scent to relish and delight in before he has to wash some of it away.  
  
“All you have to do is tell me,” he coaxes.   
  
Will curls himself tighter into Hannibal’s embrace and tucks his face against Hannibal’s throat. “I want to bite you,” he whispers against the skin.   
  
“You already have,” Hannibal teases as the many bitemarks that decorate his body twinge in punishment for daring to mock their creator.  
  
“On the neck,” Will murmurs. The exhale of Will’s breath is so delicate it tickles as he confesses, “I want to bond.”  
  
There is an ache and a pang in Hannibal’s chest that has nothing to do with Will’s violence or the more passive ways that Will has starved and drained him. It is not the primal, biological tug to care for an Omega in heat. Rather, the clench in his ribcage comes from the pain of heartfelt relief.  
  
For all that Hannibal has come to expect resistance and hesitance, Will’s care and interest has been more difficult to predict. With how Will’s warmth and favor has waxed and waned during their time together, it has been unfortunately easy for Hannibal to imagine that he would care for such a wonderful creature, tend to him, feed him and bathe him and kiss away his tears only to wake when heat has broken to find Will cold and distant once again.  
  
“You can,” Hannibal replies.  
  
“You can’t say that,” Will argues as he pulls back and away from the enclosure of Hannibal’s arms. He ducks his head and hides away as he says, “You don’t mean it. You can’t.”  
  
Hannibal tries and fails to meet Will’s eyes as he asks, “Do you experience me as someone who says things he doesn’t mean?”  
  
Will huffs at being caught but refuses to give in. “You’ll lose your job,” Will argues.  
  
“I might,” he agrees.  
  
It is true that such a misstep in judgment would be frowned upon. His job is to serve Omegas and he is depended on to not form attachments. To mate with a client would tarnish Hannibal’s otherwise spotless reputation and cause others to question if he can be trusted to keep his control.  
  
“You can’t do that for me,” Will says with an air of disappointment defeat.  
  
“If you are able to make such a decision, then so should I be,” Hannibal counters. “Are you sure this is not simply the desperation of heat?”  
  
The ring of gold in Will’s eyes shines as bright as morning sunlight. “I’m sure,” Will promises. The gold is hidden as he closes his eyes and tears drip down Will’s cheeks like rainfall. There’s a thunder that rumbles dark and vicious and destructive in Will’s throat as he asks, “Are you sure I’m good enough?”  
  
Hannibal takes hold of Will’s face with a hand at each side. He kisses away the tears as they fall. The taste of salt on his tongue cures the ache of his heart with the delicious anticipation that he might cure meat, all the rarer and more valuable for the patience.  
  
“You are the most exquisite creature I’ve ever had the pleasure of encountering,” Hannibal vows as he watches the beautiful flutter of Will’s lashes. “You have the most marvelous instincts and, if your instincts tell you to take me as yours, I would gladly have you as mine.”  
  
Will crashes their lips together but not with dangerous teeth or the intent to shed blood. His kiss is one of great relief, the end of a drought. Hannibal will make a feast in Will’s honor once they are mated. With all the bounties of land and sea cooked to perfection and laid as offerings, his mate will be sat at their table in his dominion over all manner of natural things.   
  
They pull apart once his knot has faded, but Hannibal can feel Will’s eyes on him as he gets up to throw away the condom, fetch yet another bowl of water and cloth, and grab one last item from the bathroom. Will’s eyes are back on him as soon as he steps back into the room and his gaze is the steadiest it’s ever been – inside of heat or outside of it – as he watches Hannibal diligently clean him. Will doesn’t flinch or flit his eyes away as he traces a finger along every mark on Hannibal he can see.  
  
Will starts with the wound at Hannibal’s side. It’s a particularly vicious one that stings whenever Hannibal turns. It came from last time he cleaned Will and Will lunged halfway through to sink his teeth into his vulnerable flank. Next, Will touches at the bite at his chest where Will had drawn the skin into his mouth and sucked hard enough to bruise, only to find it insufficient and decide that only another bitemark would do. After that, Will inspects the three bites that sit interlocked on Hannibal’s shoulder like chain links. They each come from a different bout, which shows in the level of healing and rawness of the wound.   
  
“Would you like to take me first?” Hannibal asks when he’s nearly finished tending to his soon-to-be mate.  
  
Will’s intent gaze gives way to something more uncertain with each blink as he licks his dry lips. “What?”  
  
Hannibal sets aside the bowl and picks up a bottle of water that’s gone lukewarm from their body heat and the cozy warmth of the nest. “You’d asked if I’d let you have me on my belly,” he reminds Will as he hands the bottle to him alongside a smaller bottle of lube.   
  
Will takes a sip to wet his dry, strained throat and seems to consider in silence as he finishes the bottle. There is a hollow sound outside the nest when he tosses the empty bottle off to the side. Hannibal barely has time to register it before Will grabs him and pulls him down to the base of the nest. Using the best of his reflexes, Hannibal catches himself on his hands and softens the blow as his head lands against the blankets.  
  
As Hannibal lies flat on his belly as he’d promised, Will touches once more at the edge of a bite he hadn’t yet inspected and drags his fingers down the lines that stand out raised and red along his back. Will kisses at the center of his spine and then draws another line with his tongue. Hannibal hears a snuffling sound and feels the tip of Will’s nose against his neck. He shivers as Will licks there too.  
  
The sound and touch of Will quickly disappears, replaced with silence and open air. This is the only moment since he met Will when Hannibal has felt anything akin to fear. Whether it is fear of rejection or fear of his throat torn away, he doesn’t get the chance to determine.   
  
Will lays down heavy and flat on top of him, covers him with his whole body weight and his scent. It makes Hannibal’s mouth water and makes his cock start to harden. He wants to rub his cock against the bedding – or, better yet, against Will – but Will keeps him pinned as he rubs his cock against Hannibal’s ass instead. Will takes his time, dragging and thrusting back and forth against his ass cheeks and across his hole. Will’s panting breaths with the effort and desire send tingling shivers across the damp line Will licked across his neck.  
  
The click of the lube bottle opening is followed quickly by the shift of Will’s body and the feel of slickened fingers at his hole. Will sinks in one finger quickly and, finding Hannibal reasonably receptive, adds some more lube and soon pushes in another one. Hannibal can feel how Will is perhaps excessive with how much lube he uses and Hannibal expects Will thinks he needs to match the slick that gushes and drips out of him.  
  
When Will rakes his nails across Hannibal’s thigh, it is the only command Hannibal needs to bend his knees and spread them wide. With his chest flush with the bedding and his back arching as any Omega’s would, he moans as Will takes hold of his hips. As Will’s heat has progressed, the nest has all but collapsed as Hannibal thought it would, so he has nothing to grip at when Will starts to press at his hole. Hannibal’s hands clench desperately with the desire to take hold as Will sinks in deep in one thrust.  
  
Will does not pause for a second. The pace he sets is rough and unrelenting. It is messy and chaotic as he slams his hips with every push in and nearly risks pulling out entirely when he pulls back. Will’s lack of control heightens the pleasure that builds under Hannibal’s skin. The throb of Hannibal’s cock is demanding, but he doesn’t dare risk touching it. With the feel of Will desperate to fill him, the scent of Will thoroughly absorbed into the nest they’d made together, and the sound of his grunts, Hannibal already feels so painfully close – but he knows he can’t come, not yet.   
  
A hand in his hair keeps him held firm and pinned as Will orgasms. As Will spills, he fills Hannibal as Hannibal has not yet been allowed to fill him and he sets his teeth to Hannibal’s neck as he had not yet allowed himself.   
  
“Good, clever boy,” Hannibal whispers against the hold of Will’s teeth.  
  
This bite is as sharp and brutal as the others had been but comes paired with a euphoria like no other. Another hand grips at the base of Hannibal’s cock where a knot tries to swell. The harsh hold keeps him from orgasm while everything in his body and mind floods pleasure and devotion into his veins and nerves and down into his very bones. Hannibal groans and gasps and can feel the blanket wet with his spit as he craves the taste of his mate and his blood.  
  
Will releases his jaw and pulls back his teeth once his cock no longer twitches or spills. As Will starts to relax and become pliant, Hannibal turns and tumbles with Will on his back. They land on their sides cushioned by the nest and, in his daze and without a knot, Will’s cock slips free. Will is only on his side for a moment. Hannibal molds him like putty in his hands until Will is presented on his hands and knees as Hannibal had been.  
  
Hannibal easily pushes two fingers into Will’s wet, warm hole. Hannibal turns his wrist to angle just right. Will moans with sensitivity as Hannibal reaches his other hand for Will’s cock. With strokes of his fingers and the touch of his hand, Hannibal feels how Will’s slick drips around his fingers and down the back of his hand and Will’s cock starts to harden against Hannibal’s palm.  
  
When Hannibal deems Will ready and removes both of his hands, Will desperately thrusts his hips back towards Hannibal’s touch. “Don’t use the condom,” he gasps.  
  
Hannibal caresses his hand along the curve of Will’s back as he asks, “Are you sure?”  
  
Will twists his neck to show Hannibal the bright gold burn of his eyes and the powerful clench of his jaw. “I won’t abide you denying me what’s mine.”  
  
He lays himself down against Will’s back. Hannibal presses with his weight and scents at Will’s neck just as Will had done to him. This alignment is just as perfect as the last. The rumble of Will’s lungs and slight stickiness of his skin have become such a familiar, lovely feeling. As Will’s instincts have blossomed throughout his heat, so has Hannibal’s love.  
  
“Of course, my dear,” he whispers in Will’s ear.  
  
His hands at Will’s hips are another perfect likeness, as is the brutal, desperate thrust of his cock into his mate. Once has pressed in as deep as he can, they both moan at the feeling of skin against skin. There is no barrier between them, physical or otherwise. Without clinical constraint, unspoken hesitation, or a latex barrier to separate them, Hannibal will soon have this wild thing as his mate.  
  
“Do you want to carry my pups, my darling?” Hannibal asks with a groan as he pulls out and sink in deep again.  
  
“ _Yes,_ ” Will whines as he desperately, messily tries to shove his hips back.  
  
“I can think of no one better,” Hannibal praises. “So fierce, so powerful. You’d protect our pups with your dying breath, wouldn’t you?”  
  
“ _Yes_ ,” Will moans.  
  
Hannibal presses in and pulls out, relishing the slide of Will’s warm, wet hole along his cock. They’ve been waiting so long and his cock has been aching for release. To be given this wildling as his mate and allowed to breed him heightens his pleasure. As his head swims, he knows he has found something exquisite and fearsome in his mate.  
  
“If anyone dared to harm the pups I give, what would you do?” Hannibal asks as he takes hold of Will’s hard, leaking cock.  
  
The tremble in Will’s voice is one of power as he bares his teeth and promises, “I would tear them apart.”  
  
Hannibal brushes the sweaty hair from Will’s face and admires the red flush of his skin as he says, “ _Perfect_.”  
  
His knot is swelling and threatens to catch with every thrust in and out. He can see how Will grits his teeth as the stretch burns. He pushes in one last time and at long last knots and spills inside his mate’s fertile body. Will’s hole clenches over and over, desperate for everything Hannibal can give. As Hannibal fills his mate, he curls over his back and sets his teeth to Will’s neck. When Will gives another needy clench, Hannibal sinks in his teeth.  
  
Will’s blood is metallic and tart and sweet on his tongue as it fills his mouth. He can taste Will as he feels the air that heaves in his lungs and the tremble that electrifies his skin. He feels them so very nearly as he’d felt his own remaking.  
  
“I’ll give you litter after litter, my dear,” he whispers in Will’s ear as he presses a hand to Will’s belly. “You will never again feel lonely or empty. There will be no room for doubt.”  
  
Will’s exhale is a wet, needy sob and he places his shaking hand to lay over Hannibal’s. He interweaves their fingers over where their family will grow. “Our life together will be beautiful,” he promises. “As we’ve become one with our nature, we will create a new world.”  
  
Hannibal nuzzles against Will’s hair and buries his smile in the curls as he murmurs, “That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you, my dear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone was at all curious, "affective constellations" comes from Interpersonal Process therapy. It basically means that clients often present with a sequence or "firing order" of emotions. One of those constellations is called Anger-Sadness-Shame and I considered making that the title instead...partially because it could be abbreviated as ASS. (I'm an adult.)
> 
> Anyway, please comment! I'm a Leo and need them for sustenance!


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